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I’ve gone on about fifty first Tinder dates in the year I’ve had the app. That’s more than the number of times I’ve seen my lifelong favourite band in concert (though not by much). That’s more than the number of other first dates I’ve had combined.

I’ve had a lot of fun and met some truly adventurous, hilarious and interesting people, but I’ve only been limerant of two of my Tinder paramours: The first date, and the most recent.

The first, whom I’ll call Gunner, deserves a post of his own. I adored him but put him through hell because he was my first partner after Harold and I opened up our relationship; a failed experiment at his expense. He jumped through so many hoops for me in the few months we gave it a go and I like to think I helped him work through some resentment he had over his ex. It must have worked, though, because Gunner is making one of my best friends very happy – they celebrated six months together recently and I take full credit. (note: they do not give me full credit, but we all know I set them up, okay? okay.)

The second though? Ooof. I’m calling him Catch. Not just because he is pretty much an ideal person (at least on paper) but because I know that when he breaks my heart I’m going to relate way too hard to this song:

(Allie X is a treasure, btw, and you should listen to everything she’s ever done)

His profile made him sound like he just wanted to show off – he stated his (impressive) profession, his height (excessively tall), and his favourite dessert (also my favourite dessert). His pics were typical: suit pic, pouty selfie, darkly-lit guitar pic… but Catch looks like every unrequited crush I’ve ever had, from the former frontman of my favourite local cover band to my favourite basketball player with a little bit of my high school best guy friend thrown in; like Jeff Winger from Community meets Robb Stark from Game of Thrones. He is very educated in fields semi-related to mine and has one of those jobs that impresses moms. He’s well-rounded (plays guitar! and sports too!) and is as obnoxious as I am. He’s also not on social media, which is frustrating but I’ll deal with it. I’m convinced I Weird Science’d him into existence.

My profile asks people to talk to me about glasses if they need an icebreaker, and he asked me a question about stemware as a wedding gift for his sister. After dozens of “So… Tell me about glasses lol” first messages, I was all about it.

Most importantly, he likes Veronica Mars, which is possibly the most attractive quality any person can ever have.

Our first non-tinder text conversation involved covert references to favourite video games and old flash cartoons from 2002. He got every reference and we accused each other of being hired by our friends to heal us from our fairly recent breakups. He texted me the next day and said “I can’t stop thinking about you.” I felt the same way, so we met up for midnight milkshakes at a diner halfway between karaoke, his work (where he’d just finished his rotation) and his condo. We talked until 4:00 am. He offered to let me crash at his place and was a complete gentleman (though I later found out that it was because he didn’t have condoms).

The next day I texted our mutual friends who had only glowing things to say (with the exception of an ex of mine whose other ex was Catch’s roommate and remembered only bad hair and combat choreography).

We had to wait for our second date because he had to go home for a bachelor party (they played Diablo III the whole time and he texted me every time he won). I was the first person he saw when he returned and I showed him my favourite downtown parks where we exchanged Community quotations and discussed the cultural significance of The Simpsons. I got to use the “You’re more handsome than the guy who’s famous for being handsome!” line and actually mean it.

He had sent me a text beforehand saying “This is going to sound RIDICULOUSLY presumptuous… But I have not had a chance to get to a drug store or equivalent… so if sex is at all on the table… You should maybe bring something… Don’t tell me if it’s on the table though! That way I can still have the joy of being all ‘Will we? Won’t we? What if she’s changed her mind? etc.’ (Yes, I know, I’m romantic to the core).”

So we went back to his place where we had amazing, safe sex in an overwhelming number of positions. Like, the kind of sex that could ruin sex with other people. I climbed him like a tree and he gave me the best workout I’ve had since my last bike ride out to the 905.

He confessed he doesn’t generally do the casual sex thing, and I told him that I’ve been over it for a while but haven’t met anyone I’d want to date exclusively in a long time.

I spent the whole next day with a big stupid grin on my face, even if sitting down was the best kind of uncomfortable. My coworker called me on it and had no idea how to handle it; she knows that I don’t gush about my dates.

The third date happened after I received this text:

SO Catch, in one text, made a pretty compelling case for heteromonogamy.

I took him to my favourite pizza place, we watched the movie, he insisted I spend the night…

I woke up the next morning to him sitting on his couch, playing “Odds Are” by the Barenaked Ladies on a beat-up teal acoustic guitar. I sang along and thought about how perfect that moment was.

I’m trying not to read into this too much, but I’ve always been on to talk myself out of anything good. I’m at least using this giddiness as a sign that I should pare down the less-exciting people in my harem. I don’t have time to spend making out with people who don’t make me smile like a doof every time I think about them.